


They're Manly Tights

by ImaniJoain



Series: Unlikely Singularities [21]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-18 16:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaniJoain/pseuds/ImaniJoain
Summary: Dating is difficult - more so when you have to schedule around international incidents, ladder-climbing politicians, black market alien weapons, and the occasional mental breakdown. Oh - and the HYDRA guys trying to drug Captain America. All Darcy wanted was a little kissing - okay, who was she kidding - a lot of kissing and some heavy petting.Goddamn HYDRA. At least Steve is funny when he's high.*Set January 13, 2017





	1. We've Been Jammed

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! A little taste of our favorite couple to set the mood. Do you think Steve will come out of the HYDRA tranquilizers better than Barnes does? Would he want to?

**January 13, 2017**

 

“I am so sorry to cancel on you Darcy.”

Steve did sound full of honest regret. And it was only their second date. It’s not like Darcy had spent an entire week tweaking every little detail and planning her outfit. She knew long before she even met Steve what his job was and is, his dedication to it – it was part of his appeal to her. She could also recognize that the situation in Atlanta merited the Avengers intervening.

The overturned semi-trailer of drugs? That was on local and state cops. Maybe the DEA.

The subsequent outbreak of overdoses and drug-related crime? See above.

Super-fucked up, high-as-the-space-station civies stumbling onto an abandoned HYDRA base and finding a cache of alien weapons? That was mostly on SHIELD v 2.0 and probably the national guard.

It was when the civilians turned most of the weapons over to a local crime ring and things escalated into a Chiturai-powered riot with sour edges of racism and some kind of HYDRA tank thing that the Avengers got called in. It was all aboveboard and in perfect compliance with the regulations that Darcy had been working hard to establish for Yinsen. The Governor had personally called Tony – who promptly had him rerouted to Darcy – to request assistance.

It still sucked.

“It’s fine, Steve.” She managed not to sigh. Barely. She had purchased new lipstick for the date. Guaranteed not to transfer. She planned on lots of making out, goddammit. “Just try to keep your destruction of private property to a minimum on your first time out. I mean, save people first, obviously, but the new PR crew would love a nice photo opportunity where the city you save isn’t on fire afterward.”

Natasha’s voice was clear in the background. “It’s as if she knows you, Steve.”

“Don’t you need to focus on flying, Nat?” His grumble was adorable. It made Darcy even madder that the date got canceled.

“I can multi-task.”

There was more indistinct grumbling and a door clicking and then Steve’s voice sounded hollow, like he was speaking through a tin can. “Sorry. Again. Sorry. We can reschedule though, right?”

“Where are you?” Darcy was trying to picture the quinjet. She’d only been in one one time, and she couldn’t imagine Steve had left the cockpit to find privacy. The back would be filled with Bucky, Sam, Vision, and Wanda – considerably less privacy than with the Black Widow.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied quickly. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

She laughed, delighted. “Steve, there is no way you are going to be able to leave the tower tomorrow night. Even if you guys finish up down there and get away from the media circus that is going to be covering this – you have paperwork to fill out here. And normally I’d say skip it, but I am the one who actually needs that paperwork, so...”

Proof that Captain America was eager to be with her was heady. Not that she didn’t already have indicators. On Monday he had dropped by her office to confirm date number two with flowers, a heartfelt note, and a gorgeous smile. On Wednesday afternoon he brought her coffee before the situation update on Atlanta – prior to alien weapon discovery. On Thursday morning, he was lingering suspiciously in the lobby when she arrived for work and walked her up to her office. She had a bet going via email with Jane over how long it would take her tiny staff to get used to seeing so much pretty on the reg. Jane had put twenty bucks on two weeks. Darcy planned to use the money to buy a pair of silk stockings. She figured they’d look great draped over Steve’s arms.

Of course, Atlanta had put a kink in those plans too. Their dating schedule was going to be all screwed up. With the reschedule, she’d either have to wait another week before convention stated she could tackle Steve to the ground and let him know how much she admired his values, or she’d have to agree with herself that Steve was worth feeling a little slutty.

Every day made her more convinced that sexual restraint was an outdated social construct.

“Yeah. Sorry. Again.” He laughed quietly. “Tony is always calling me an old man. At my age you’d think I’d be better at this.”

“At thirty? Yeah, you’d think so.” Darcy glanced at her computer for their estimated time of arrival. Steve would probably want to go over battle plans or whatever with the others before they landed. “Look, I know you have to go soon, but I do want to reschedule. I mean, I’ll have to cancel the five-piece string ensemble and the moonlight carriage ride, but I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“Five piece? Seems like the carriage would be crowded.” She could hear Steve’s smile over the phone.

“Hmm. You think? I was just going to sit in your lap. But, alas, my plans have been foiled.” He did laugh then, and Darcy felt her own smile stretching. “I’ll see you when I see you. No worries, Steve Rogers.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“Hey,” she bit her lip with sudden inspiration, “try to make sure Jimmy’s face stays pretty.”

“You makin’ eyes at my pal?”

“Nah. But I can’t start my porn empire if my number one earner gets deformed. Now that I think of it, try to keep Sam’s ass safe too.”

Steve’s laughter was the perfect way to end the call. Darcy hung up, a smile on her face, and turned back to her blinking phone line. The work of a mediator was never done.

“Yes, Senator,” she said, answering the call that had been on hold the longest. “I am sorry to keep you waiting. I believe you wanted to discuss the potential for a training facility in your home state? Let me begin by saying that...”

 

***

“Everything okay with Darcy?” Sam was checking over his wing pack, but he looked up at Steve for a response.

“Probably came to her senses,” Bucky smirked, “decided to upgrade to a better looking model.”

“She did mention your pretty face, Buck.” Steve had to bite his cheek to keep from grinning. “Said she has a lot of money riding on you staying handsome.” Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise and Sam chortled.

“Laugh it up, chuckles,” Bucky said grimly.

“Don’t feel too bad, she’s only interested in Sam for his butt.” It was Bucky’s turn to laugh, but Sam only grinned.

“Girl has excellent taste – present company excluded, of course.”

“Idiots,” Wanda muttered from the other side of the jet.


	2. Only One Man Would Dare Give Me the Raspberry

**January 14, 2017**

 

“There is...” Vision’s voice trailed off, for at least the third time since the hostiles in Atlanta had been subdued, and Tony was _this_ close to making fun of him. Or running a diagnostic. Or both. Both _and_ checking local surveillance cameras, just to be on the safe side. And giving Natasha a heads up. If there was something out of place, she would be the first to see it. Tony was man enough to admit that she was more observant than him. Man enough to admit it to himself. There was not enough therapy on Earth to make him admit it to her. No way. No how. 

Steve’s voice cut over the comms, “You see something, Vision?”

Half the wall was taken up by an area map showing each team member’s location. The other half was various files and searches, real-time satellite imagery, a recipe for apple yogurt smoothies, schematics for a new Iron Man helmet design, team health stats, an electronic dartboard of Ross’ face, and readouts of the Georgia National Guard emergency radio channel. Tony lifted his feet up on the conference table, congratulating himself on the foresight to set up a separate area for mission ops. If he had been in his workshop he would have been distracted during the dull moments. There had been at least three or four five minutes breaks during the hours long mission where no one was being shot at. He definitely would have wandered away if there had been anything else to do in the room.

That was progress. Step One: recognize your weaknesses and triggers. Step Two: minimize the potential.

Tony popped another dried banana chip into his mouth and crunched down. His fingers flew over the keyboard propped on his legs, searching for anything that could have caught Vision’s interest. 

“Hey Friday,” he called out around a mouthful. He couldn’t decide if he should thank Lewis for turning him on to the banana chips – or fuck with her credit score. The damn things were amazing – but they were super loud and tended to get stuck in his teeth. “Pull up the real-time stats for Vision and compare them to our last baseline.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“I do not believe so,” Vision was answering Steve. “Captain, I have the distinct and rather disconcerting feeling that someone is watching me.”

“That’s just Witch,” Sam joked. Their indicator lights were close enough together that Tony had to give the bird-man credit for teasing her. That took balls. Then Sam yelped. “Sweet Lord, woman. Was that really necessary?” 

“Yes.” Wanda sounded almost as cool as Natasha. Tony wasn’t sure how he felt about that. One Widow was tolerable, even useful. Two would be...just no. “I have several civilians approaching my position, Captain,” she continued calmly. “They do not appear to be armed, but they are nearing the quarantined area.”

“Iron Man, anything on your end?” Steve grunted into his comm as if he had taken a hit. 

Tony crunched a banana chip into his comm, just to be irritating. “Nada, Cap. There is some debris five blocks east of you and a report that someone may be missing. Local enforcement could use some aerial support.”

“Falcon, you are on recon.” There was another grunt, then Steve ordered Wanda, “Give them a verbal warning, Witch, defenses only. I am closest to your position if they don’t take a hint.”

“Gentlemen. Miss. This area is off limits. Please...” 

Tony tuned Wanda out. He really needed visuals  _aside_ from Falcon’s stupid goggles and the Quinjet. Hacking into local security cams was easy – sure. But it just didn’t give the theatrical presence he was looking for. If he couldn’t be physically in the mix (And he agreed he couldn’t,  _Pepper_ , absolutely, one hundred percent on board with semi-retirement. Okay. Like ninety-two percent on board.), then he needed to feel like he was right there. Technicolor and surround sound. 4K, ultra-HD, in-your face virtual reality. He made a mental note to start a field trial with the contacts he had been designing. Lewis wore glasses. He could probably con her into trying them out again. Tony recalled how well that had gone the first time.  _Maybe Parker would like a tour of the lab_ , he decided.

“Boss, Vision is operating within normal parameters on all metrics. There is a three-point-oh-six percent increase in sensory input over the most recent mission.”

“That’s not a red flag or anything,” Tony said aloud. He double checked the numbers anyway. Once the heat-seeking tank thing had been dealt with - _it had a subterranean drill, who even came up with those things? It wasn’t really useful...unless a quick getaway...but the urban infrastructure would..._ taking down the rest of the overpowered gang members had been easy – if not quick. Midnight had come and gone and the team would probably be in Atlanta into the early morning hours helping the National Guard to make certain all the Chautari weapons were secured and put into SHIELD’s undead hands. There wasn’t much for Tony to do except offer the occasional street directions and pull up traffic and ATM cameras. Being base support kind of sucked.

“Widow. Movement at your four. Seventy meters.”

And listening to Mr. Ice Ice Baby made him want to stab out his own eardrums. Tony got it. The guy was on the team. The team needed a sniper and Clint needed to retire. He  _got_ it, okay? But that didn’t mean he liked it.

“Copy, Soldier...Captain, these civilians may be-”

“Widow taking fire,” the Murderer stated flatly. The even, measured repeat of his rifle assured that he was providing backup.

“-said to stay – Captain, they are not civilians!” There was a masculine scream and a Sokovian curse, and then Wanda came back on line. “I am holding them back for the moment, but I cannot remain defensive for long without one of their bullets getting through.”

“On my way.” 

Tony watched the map, little colored dots representing each team member. Steve’s blue pinpoint was sliding across the screen – he had to be running at least thirty-five miles an hour. Things moved quickly after that. Natalie and the Soviet Bishop remained pinned down – not taking any damage, but unable to break away with civilians constantly in the line of fire. Steve and Wanda dealt with armed locals – doing their best to intimidate them into turning away, and trying not to cause any permanent damage. Vision and Sam were on rescue duty, and each time they were ready to give support to one of the other teams, another request for assistance in to  search for individuals reported as missing or trapped.

It was nearly five in the morning by the time things calmed down. Between Steve and Wanda they had almost twenty individuals trussed up and ready for the local police to pick up. The former Soviet Bloc needed paramedics more than a paddy wagon, with shoulder and leg gunshot wounds abounding. The entire team had minor injuries. Wilson sounded exhausted after hours of flying, and even Vision was frank about his desire to return home. 

"I believe we are finished here, Captain. The National Guard has completed a sweep of the last sector and declared it secure.”

“Sounds good, Vision. Soldier and Widow, head back to the Quinjet and get it ready to go. Falcon...” His voice faded off for nearly a minute.

“Cap?” Sam was already on his way to meet with Natasha, but he paused when Steve didn’t answer.

“Yeah. Sorry. Uh, Falcon, stand down. Wanda, you and Vision check in with the Atlanta PD. I’ll...I’ll...finish up with the...” There was another long pause, and Tony sat up, looking for Steve on his hijacked cameras. The health readouts from his suit didn’t look too bad. His heart rate was a little slower than Tony expected – but then, he had the serum and had never had _his_ chest cracked open, so…

“Witch.” The One-Armed Wonder didn’t say anything else, but Wanda still answered.

“One of the groups that assaulted our position was using tranquilizer darts. He didn’t block them all. I’ll stay with him.” Her dot on the map moved closer to Steve’s.

“’m fine,” Steve mumbled. “Just tired. Let’s finish up.”

Tony could hear the tension from most of the team. Steve didn’t get tired. Certainly not from a twelve hour mission that hadn’t even required any rocket launchers or flipping of vehicles.  He had to wonder how many times Mr. Eagle had been hit. There was nothing he could do about it from New York, except try to smooth the way so everyone could get back sooner. He sent a notice to Vision to check Steve over for injuries when he got to the Quinjet and then directed Friday to connect him to the HQ for the National Guard.

“Don’t worry about it guys. I got this. Go ahead and bug out.” If being Tony Stark had any privileges, high on the list was the ability to ignore requests for photos, publicity, or hobnobbing with the Avengers. He’d probably end up doing a few voice interviews on the team’s behalf, but he’d be able to hold the favor over Steve’s head for ages. Or so he told himself.

"Thank god,” Sam groaned as his locator reached the Quinjet and he landed. “Goodbye, Hotlanta.”

Tony and the  Walking Can Opener groaned in sync. It was disturbing.


	3. Lonestar!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear - I'm getting to the Steve/Darcy goodness, but who can resist Bucky? Or setting Stark up to be caught with his nose where it doesn't belong?

**January 14, 2017**

 

“He might as well go home,” Dr. Cho stated over the video conference. “There is nothing in the sample analysis you sent me to suggest anything poisonous – just a hell of a tranquilizer cocktail. A regular human would have been out cold after the first dart. I would say the most he can do is sleep it off, but someone should stay with him until it is out of his system, just in case his condition changes.”

“Thanks for taking a look, Doc,” Tony said, remembering what Lewis had said about the value of praise. Eh, he’d rather just pay more. “You know how the serumed bunch get all squirelly about handing over blood samples.” She nodded and he continued, “You going to be back in state anytime soon?” Tony walked as he talked, heading to the medical floor. It was boggling to him that the staff had managed to keep Steve there long enough for Cho to consult – there was no point in prolonging things any more than necessary. Not that Steve would do damage to anyone or anything, but he _would_ start lecturing doctors and giving nurses his patented I-am-so-saddend-by-the-behavior-of-this-century-and-also-I-am-a-hero face and then Tony would have a coup on his hands. He had a strict limit on coups – no more than two per year. As it was still first quarter, he thought it was best to avoid one for a bit longer.

“Difficult to say,” Cho replied. A buzz of noise and a sudden flash of light in the background had her frowning. “I have to go, Mr. Stark. Interns,” she muttered, “completely useless. Hey! Put that down! Did you even use proper-”

The call ended abruptly and Tony could only shake his head. That sort of thing was exactly why he preferred robots over human assistants in his lab. Well, that, and people got unnecessarily skittish after one or two _tiny_ explosions. And they complained if they had to work more than twenty hours straight. It wasn’t like he didn’t feed them. There were pudding cups and smoothies in the workshop fridge. _Wimps_.

The elevator door opened to the infirmary and Tony was not surprised to see Steve standing in the lobby area, arguing with the head nurse and Wilson while an unimpressed Flash Frozen Fucker looked on. _Oooo – that’s a good one,_ he thought to himself. _Triple F._ He was mildly surprised Lewis wasn’t in attendance, with the way those two kids had been blushing over each other. It had been Tony’s plan, of course, and a masterful one at that, but he was still mildly nauseated by all the twitterpated vibes they were giving off. He was libel to get a contact romance infection. _At least Pepper_ _is_ _in residence…_

“The Captain has been cleared from medical,” Tony announced with a loud voice and a dramatic wave he felt set the perfect tone. Apparently the nurse disagreed as she scowled, snapped her tablet shut, and stomped off.

“See?” Steve shook his head slowly and folded his arms over his chest. “’M fine.”

“Was that a slur in your voice, Captain Decorum? Or are you just happy to see me? No matter,” he waved off Steve’s frown and Wilson’s exasperation. Steve’s shoulders were rounded and slumped under the Avengers-branded sweats Tony had provided for everyone. He scrubbed one hand over his face – as if that might wake him up. As a close, personal, intimate companion to exhaustion (through both natural and extremely unnatural means), Tony felt confident it would not. “Your new place is mostly done, El Capitan, but Cho says you can only leave under supervision. So, ladies,” he batted his lashes at Wilson and Silent but Deadly, “which one of you will escort Goldilocks? You’ll have to have a slumber party, but if you want to get fresh, I won’t tell.”

“Shut the fuck up, Stark.” Steve wasn’t even looking at him, so Tony’s impersonation of the offended party was wasted.

“Well, I never.”

 

***

Barnes had been looking forward to Steve seeing his new place. It had been mostly done already the first time he saw the plans, but Vision had taken suggestions easily and Stark threw money at contractors for overtime and rushed orders like it was going out of style, so one week was apparently enough to be move-in ready.

He had not, however, thought the first time Steve toured it would be while shaking off the effects of HYDRA’s drugs. If he had, he might have suggested Steve just stay over at the Tower another night or two. As they crested the second flight of stairs in the brownstone and Steve slowed to a stop and leaned most of his weight on Barnes, it crossed his scarred and jellied brain that he definitely would have left Steve at the Tower if he had known he’d need to practically carry the punk up three flights of stairs.

Not that it was an issue of strength. Steve weighed in at maybe two-sixty after a full meal, so that wasn’t a problem. The problem was trying to fit two broad-shouldered guys up a set of stairs designed before either of them were born. Wide, they weren’t.

“Come on,” Barnes said loudly, hoping the volume would snap Steve into focus for at least a few more minutes.

“Lotta stairs,” Steve mumbled. “Shoulda, shoulda taken the elevator.”

Barnes didn’t bother to correct him that they weren’t in the Tower. Steve’s eyes were mostly closed and he was swaying on his feet. _One more flight_ , he thought to himself, _then I can shoulder him to a bed if I have to._ He glanced in the guest bedrooms on the second floor – not hopeful, but covering his bases. Neither were furnished yet. Barnes huffed. Stark had said the place was finished. Apparently that meant paint and working faucets, not mattresses.

“If I haul your ass all the way up there and there’s no bed,” he threatened under his breath.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care. Either way it was another tense eight minutes to get him swaying and stumbling to the third floor. Vision had done a good job. Most of the space was open to the front of the building, where a massive bed – _thank_ _god_ – had been made up against an exposed brick wall. Gleaming wood floors and freshly painted walls were bare of art or rugs, and the tall windows had only blackout blinds, but it was a hell of a lot better than most of the places he or Steve had ever laid down their heads.

He dumped Steve on the mattress, managing to get his boots off before the man snuffled into a pillow and was out cold. Buck watched him for several long minutes. He counted the seconds between breaths, measured the rise and fall of his chest, listened for moisture or irritation in his lungs. With a sudden snap he turned on his heel. Steve wasn’t a sickly weakling anymore and wouldn’t die from tranquilizers. Really, Barnes should take it like a vacation. It was so rare he was guaranteed a block of time in which Steve Rogers absolutely could not get into trouble.

Over the next couple of hours, as morning fell into afternoon, Barnes poked his head into the master bathroom - full of white tile and a frosted glass window in the shower. A sitting area - _dressing room? Reading nook?_ _hard to tell without any furniture_ – at the back of the third floor had a metal spiral staircase that went up to an empty, glass walled room on the roof. The second floor was more of the same high ceilings and finely crafted woodwork in two bedrooms and another bathroom – this one with a bathtub that looked like something from his time. On the main floor was a living area with a fireplace, separated by a fully stocked wet bar alcove from a space with built in shelves that could have been a library or a dining room. It contained only three sad looking cardboard boxes marked “Rogers”. There was a tiny powder room as well, and the flimsy, obviously temporary, wall and door that he knew lead to Darcy’s place.

The kitchen was where Barnes had provided the most input and Vision had clearly taken his advice. The rear wall of the brownstone had been blown out, and replaced with an addition in glass – including the roof. A long line of counters on the left included a six burner gas stove and a refrigerator big enough to hold even a super soldier’s groceries. An island in matching marble featured a deep sink and a dishwasher – not that Steve would ever remember to use it. This room too had floor to ceiling built-ins along the right wall, which curled around into a banquette and a place for a table. There weren’t any actual chairs. Not anywhere in the house. The refrigerator was empty too.

Barnes muttered curses to himself as he ordered Thai and thought about having groceries delivered too. Not that he could cook anything but beans and stew, or that there were plates in the house to eat off of, but if he had to be there very long he’d at least like to have some fucking fruit. Only Stark would think a place with no goddamn bread or chairs was livable. _Two kinds of whiskey though,_ he noted with irritation, _priorities._

He had just checked on Steve again – still snoring away and mumbling occasionally about flour and flash grenades, Barnes hoped he wasn’t dreaming of exploding cakes – and was waiting for the food when his phone rang.

“Barnes,” he answered gruffly to a number he didn’t recognize. There were only six people who had his number – it had been seven. Lang’s friend Luis had called once to ask him if the Trans-Siberian railway served borscht. How the hell would he know? And who the hell cared? After the first three minutes of non-stop chatter Barnes had hung up and then blocked the number. If Lang ever needed to reach him he could damn well call Steve. It occurred to him that someone – _Natalia_ – might have messed with his phone again. Thankfully, it was not Luis.

It also wasn’t any of the six people who had the number.

“Sergeant Barnes.” The soft Irish was instantly recognizable as Stark’s computer, but Barnes hadn’t realized it made phone calls too. “I hope I did not disturb Captain Rogers, but I am afraid you are needed back at the Tower. Mr. Stark has issued a notice to assemble.”

Of course. The billionaire made a point never to speak to Barnes unless he had to, and even then it was mostly insults. Barnes wanted to feel annoyed, but guilt was still outweighing irritation.

“I can’t leave,” he replied. “Someone has to watch Steve.”

“One moment.” He waited while Friday... _considered? Compiled? Checked with Stark?_ “Boss has instructed me to send a healthcare professional to monitor the Captain. Is there a particular staff member you feel would serve his needs best?”

The doorbell rang and Barnes worked hard not to scowl at the kid holding his spring rolls hostage. Spring rolls he wouldn’t get a chance to eat now. His stomach rumbled. _Stark sends Steve here, no food, no furniture, and then tries to pawn him off on some nurse?_ While Barnes was willing to endure Stark’s treatment for his own part – Steve sure as hell didn’t deserve it. He paid for his food and stalked back to the kitchen, a horrible, wonderful, extremely Natalia-esqe idea forming.

“See if Darcy is available.”

“Contacting her now…Ms. Lewis has stated that she can leave the office at this time, and is happy to assist. Agent Romanoff has offered to drop her off and pick you up at the same time.”

“Hn. See if you can get some furniture here, Friday. Please. And maybe some food.”

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes. Is there anything else?”

Barnes answered in the negative and stood over the sink, cramming hot rice into his mouth and washing it down with tom yum soup. Despite having to go back out into the field so soon after Atlanta, he couldn’t help a smirk. Stark thought he could manipulate Steve and Darcy by putting them in the same building. Barnes had a feeling Darcy would have something to say about that. To Stark’s face. Loudly. Fluently. There might even be a knee to the Stark family jewels.

He hoped the mission ended in time for him to see it.


	4. How Many Assholes Are On This Ship?

**January 14, 2018**

Darcy stood on the sidewalk, confused and irritated and more than a little suspicious and watched Natasha peel smoothly into traffic. She hadn’t been paying attention much during the ride from the Tower, partly because she had some virtual triage to do on Atlanta where Tony may have made a few unnecessary remarks to the governor and partly because watching Natasha drive inspired a horrifically fascinating combination of nausea and admiration.

She should have been paying attention.

When they pulled up, Bucky was waiting at the curb and just about bodily hauled Darcy out of her seat under the guise of good manners. She had only the briefest impression of familiar brownstones before a key was pressed into her palm, a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, a gruff ‘thanks, doll’, and then she was watching a car accident waiting to happen while being assaulted with the realization that she was in front of her own apartment. She supposed it was a good idea to pick up a few things from her place before she went to Steve’s, but she didn’t even have his address and Friday had given the impression that the good Captain shouldn’t be left alone so…

Darcy glanced down at the key in her hand.

It was heavy, thick brass. Just like her apartment key.

It had a stamped leather fob. Just like hers.

The address was embossed in gold. Just. Like. Hers.

_519A 8 th SPSD_

Darcy glanced down the stairs to her own front door. She couldn’t see it from her position on the sidewalk, but she knew next to the door were brass numbers.

_519B._

With a numb sort of disbelief, Darcy glanced at the corner, past the barren trees in their cages to the sign marking the intersection next to Drammel’s grocery which clearly read 8th Street. Her eyes moved of their own volition up the stone steps of her building to the front door one floor above hers. It was two, tall wooden doors, darkened with age and faced with beveled glass. The transom above had the address marked in black, edged with gold leaf.

_519A._

_That son of a bitch._

Darcy held the key so tightly that her palm protested, but she stalked up the steps. The door was unlocked, and she threw the deadbolt behind her and left her wet snow boots on the cement tile there before opening the interior doors and stepping into the hallway. Stairs rose on her left, and underneath them was a flimsy wall made of finish plywood and painted to match the rest of the apartment. Darcy followed it to the far end, where a shitty door – far too cheap to ever be an a Stark owned building – was closed and latched with a simple knob lock.

“That son of a bitch,” she muttered out loud. She already knew, deep in her bones where she knew that Jane loved her and Pepper Potts should rule the world and cheesecake was not a food but rather a balm for the soul put on this earth by some beneficent and merciful god that Tony Stark had fucked her over but good. She knew, but she had to confirm it with her eyes. Unlocking the door, she stared down wooden stairs and a tasteful green and gray and pale blue Persian runner for a solid two minutes before making her feet move. The door at the bottom was also locked, but opened easily with her apartment key. On the other side was her own little foyer and front door.

“That son of a bitch,” she repeated, louder this time.

Darcy got out her phone, ready to call Tony and give him a piece of her mind. And maybe a piece of her foot. Up his ass. Really, really far up there. An incoming text stopped her.

_MoneyMaker: He’s on the third floor. Sleeping._

_MoneyMaker: Friday said she would send over food and stuff._

_MoneyMaker: Thanks, Darcy. Please let me know if anything changes._

Well, shit. Darcy was pretty sure that Steve hadn’t known about their living arrangements. He had mentioned that Stark offered him one of the places he was remodeling in Brooklyn, but he didn’t know where and hadn’t seen it yet. It stood to reason that Bucky hadn’t seen it either – and certainly Tony wasn’t sharing any information with him even under penalty of death. Or goatee shaving. Natasha probably knew – she knew everything as far as Darcy was concerned – but there was no way Darcy would even consider retaliation against the Black Widow. And Bucky had managed to make his text sound so...grateful. So humbling. Fucking irritating, is what it was. Darcy was boiling for a fight, and the only person who really deserved it was at the Tower in the middle of organizing another mission.

“Might be better to let him stew,” she mused to herself. “Revenge. Cold. Plots. Alliances.” She nodded to herself and mechanically hung up her coat and scarf. Quickly, she dropped everything but her phone on the little landing strip next to the door and then turned and marched back up the stairs. Pure determination carried her up four flights, muttering with intent the whole way.

“You will rue the day, Anthony Stark. Rue. The. Day.”

It did not escape her notice that Steve’s place was huge. Huge and beautiful and elegant and pathetic in its complete lack of anything to make it a home. He had no art – which she would have thought would totally be his thing. There were no photos – which, _hello_ , how many could he possibly have, anyway? There was no fucking furniture, for Thor’s sake. It was like no one lived there. If there was one thing that all three of her parents had always stressed, it was the importance of home. That and loving relationships. And Mel Brooks – because _Blazing_ _Saddles_ , right? But in this case home was a lot easier to fix. Sweet Baby Jesus and a fucking crutch too, Steve deserved to live in an actual home, not some weird, empty time-capsule museum decorated by Tony’s Upper West Side designers.

She tabled those thoughts as she finally made it to the top floor and caught sight of his bed. Steve was starfished on top of a boringly neutral greige duvet. His boots were neatly arranged at the foot of the outrageously huge bed and he was snuffling into a pillow. Darcy’s heart both melted and squeezed tight at the same time. His face was turned toward her, cheeks pale enough that as she got closer she could make out individual freckles marching across the bridge of his nose. Deep shadows under his eyes and golden stubble on his jaw emphasized how tired he must have been. His hair stuck up oddly, flattened up the back and endearing in its imperfection. Carefully, she reached out to brush a few longer pieces off of his forehead.

“Butter’d be better,” he mumbled, scrubbing his mouth against the pillowcase. He was gorgeous. Gorgeous and funny and too easy to want to take care of. To snuggle down next to him and wrap her arms around his solid chest and breathe in the salty-clean scent of his neck. Which would be entirely inappropriate given their current history of _one_ date and his apparent inebriation. It was a sad state of affairs.

“Too cold for it, Buck...Make your own fuckin’ bread. Lazy. Lazy louse...inna, inna house. Told ya. Told ya’t wouldna, wouldna...show off.” He muttered something else, pressing his face further into the bedding and then falling quiet again like that, face down.

Darcy clapped a hand over her mouth to contain a giggle. She had to wonder if he always talked in his sleep, or if it had something to do with the tranquilizers Friday had mentioned. A shiver wracked his entire body and she quickly flipped over the edge of the duvet to cover him, knowing there was no way she would be able to even roll Steve if he wasn’t conscious.

“Well shit,” she whispered, suddenly realizing that she was the only person with clearance to know where Steve lived who wasn’t essential to whatever mission the Avengers were on. If he didn’t wake up in the next eight hours or so, she was going to be responsible for a lot more than just making sure his blankets stayed up. There was no where to sit except the bed and a nest of pillows and blankets in the corner, so she situated herself on the floor and pulled up her messaging app.

_To MoneyMaker: I’ve got this. Do Good._

_To Friday: Can I order a chair? On Tony’s dime?_

Friday: There is a budget already established for your current location. Please forward your immediate needs and I will rush delivery.

Darcy spent a few minutes searching for some essentials: a couple of bar stools for the kitchen that were nice looking but could be moved down to her place if Steve didn’t like them, a lamp and table for the master bedroom classic enough that they could go somewhere else, and a chaise lounge with clean lines and reviews that promised it was comfortable enough to sleep on. She forwarded everything to Friday.

_Friday: Very good. SI security will deliver by nine p.m._

Darcy glanced at her watch. It was already four in the afternoon. The AI was good.

 _To Friday: And a baby monitor. Something that will carry a signal to the basement leve_ l.

Friday responded that it would arrive within the hour along with a basic selection of groceries, including Darcy’s favorite wine. _Thank_ _god_. She settled back into her pillows, watching Steve shift and murmur angrily about silk stockings. That raised an eyebrow, but she still pulled up a new email on her phone.

“Rue the day,” she whispered as she typed to Pepper. “Rue. The. Day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if you knew Natasha had a hand in your embarrassment and potential awkwardness, would you take revenge? I wouldn't.


	5. I Always Drink Coffee While I Watch Radar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't like a good Mel Brooks reference?
> 
> And eleven year old Bucky? No way he wasn't sneaky as sin and twice as charming.

_**January 14, 2017** _

Steve barely made it out of the shower and into a pair of sweats in the little locker room next to medical without giving in to the lethargy that was sliding down his limbs with a heavy weight and whispering that he should close his eyes – just for a minute. Atlanta didn’t earn him any injuries that hadn’t already healed by the time they had touched down in New York – and there was no way in hell he was staying in medical to fight with the staff about blood tests. As long as he could stay awake long enough to get home he could let the serum burn off whatever HYDRA had shot into him.

Sam was arguing against his leaving, trying to get him to at least stay to be monitored. Buck, thankfully, was at his back, not saying much but doing his best impersonation of the Winter Soldier. Better than anyone else, except maybe Bruce, Bucky understood how important it was to prevent the temptation posed by a sample of serum-infused fluid or tissue in the hands of anyone he didn’t completely trust. And God, now he missed Bruce. Steve felt the tight knot of grief that never really seemed to go away more keenly. As difficult as the first meeting – the first mission – of the Avengers had been, these were his friends. His comrades. The people best positioned to understand him and everything he stood for. And Bruce, with his experiences with the serum, knew better than even Bucky how Steve’s desire to erase any information on Erksine’s experiments had less to do with his own autonomy, and everything to do with the unintended consequences of playing God. Even him, even Captain America, objectively the best possible outcome of enhancement, had drawbacks. Terrible, untold developments that were still unfolding for him in new and depressing ways three-quarters of a century later.

Sam’s hand on his arm and the sudden tense presence of Buck right behind him snapped him out of the open-eyed doze he had fallen into.

“I’m fine,” he repeated for what seemed like the millionth time.

“No, Captain Rogers, in point of fact, you aren’t.” The head nurse, Sandra – he was sure Stark had said her name was Sandra – and that made him almost smile. According to Darcy that made it certain her name was actually Morgan or Winnie or Devon or something completely different from Sandra. “Your vitals have been steadily falling below normal ranges since you were hit by those darts, and we have not yet gotten back labs on the chemicals. Even then, the impact on you can’t be judged without adequate blood work.”

Steve didn’t have to answer, Buck did it for him. “No.” At that one word two orderlies stiffened and a younger nurse with less backbone quietly faded away from potential crossfire.

“No one is drawing blood,” Sam said, ever the diplomat. “But Steve, an hour or so can’t hurt, just to make sure this doesn’t have any nasty surprises.”

Sam was a good friend. The best of friends. But he couldn’t know how the serum was. The way Steve could feel it working in him when he was injured, the speed that his body would knit itself back together was a tangible and uncomfortable thing. The way even the most powerful drugs and painkillers were washed out of his system – often before he really wanted them to be. Sam couldn’t know the responsibility, to prevent the devastation that could result if the serum was replicated again. The devastation he could cause if he didn’t hold himself to the highest standards.

He wanted to explain, to make a logical argument, but all he could manage was, “’M fine.” He was just so tired. A mild wave of dizziness washed over him. His feet felt disconnected from the rest of him and a distant part of him worried that he wouldn’t know if he fell until after he hit the floor. Buck wouldn’t let him, he knew. Always had his back. Always there for him.

Except when he wasn’t.

Except when Steve hadn’t been there for him. When Steve had failed. He couldn’t fail again. Wouldn’t. The consequences were too dire. Too unthinkable. Too painful to his heart and soul. Sam was still talking, trying to find a compromise but the not-Sandra nurse was not having any of it. She took her own responsibilities seriously. Steve appreciated that, demanded it even for his teammates and friends who needed and deserved the best possible care. _Should send her something_ , he thought to himself. _A note or, or something. Good to have someone with_ _the_ _gumption to deal with all of us._ Most of the conversation floated by him until the elevator announced Tony’s arrival with a _ping_ that sounded louder and longer than usual. He wondered if it was only in his head.

With his usual flamboyance, Tony proclaimed, “The Captain has been cleared from medical.” Steve had never been more grateful for Tony’s entitled nosiness. It occurred to him that as much as Bucky and Bruce and Natasha guarded the serum, Tony might have felt a sort of proprietary aegis toward it as well. It was a Stark that had made the serum work, after all. Without Howard’s Vita-rays...well, there were already too many examples of what happened to Erksine’s formula when combined with other catalysts.

Steve shook off the wandering thoughts. “See? ’M fine.”

The nurse, apparently, didn’t agree. The snap shut of her tablet was loud, bouncing off the hard surfaces of the infirmary and a counterpoint to the squishing stomp of her tennis shoes as she marched off. Tony was his usual crass and insulting self.

“Was that a slur in your voice, Captain Decorum? Or are you just happy to see me? No matter. Your new place is mostly done...” Steve tuned out for a minute. _My_ _new place._ An apartment – admittedly provided by Stark, but the man had agreed to lease it, so Steve was paying for it. And that would be much more discreet than Steve Rogers using a real estate agent. A place that was his – not SHIELD’s. If there was one thing Tony and Steve were on the same page about it was privacy. Steve had been promised Stark level security, but no cameras or listening devices and no conceivable way anyone would be able to plant any without Tony knowing about it. Eventually, his neighbors would recognize him, but hopefully it would be gradual. Give him a chance to go to the corner store and take a run in the park. Read the paper on the front stoop and watch kids ride their bikes.

Steve had a brief daydream about sitting with Bucky, watching the neighborhood go by like they used to. Waving to the postman and saying hello to his neighbors. Darcy coming out behind him with a cup of coffee and a smile. It looked so _good_. He ached for it.

“...escort Goldilocks? You’ll have to have a slumber party, but if you want to get fresh, I won’t tell.”

God, Steve didn’t want to deal with this shit anymore. Grateful as he was to Tony, he just wanted to go home. Sleep. “Can it, Stark.”

Both Sam and Buck followed him into the elevator, flanking him all the way down to the garage as if they were afraid he would fall over. Steve kept his jaw locked tight. He’d never admit how likely that outcome was as only sheer determination kept him from sagging against the wall. Reality blurred in and out for a while after that. A ride in the back of one of the SI fleet cars. Buck’s metal hand in his armpit, both holding him up and urging him forward. There were stairs. So. Many. Stairs. And then soft darkness.

A field of flowers. Steve remembered this. It was in France – or maybe Italy, they had crossed the border so many times he wasn’t always certain what country they were sleeping in. The Commandos had pitched a tent on the edge of it all, next to a stream that was clear and cold and its trickle was the only sound under that soft blue sky other than the buzz of insects and distant bird song. It was the first down time they had had in ages, and Buck was lying back in the grass, hat over his face and pretending to sleep so Dugan would stop pestering him about learning to fish. Steve had been itching for some pastels, or paints – hell, even watercolors to catch all the shades of green and blue and pink and yellow. But all he had was a standard No. 2 pencil – damn near worn to the nub, and a few blank pages at the back of his little sketchbook.

It was a dream. He knew it had happened long before, but it was a good memory. A warm, late summer day. The sunny, grassy smell of wildflowers and the outdoors. A fat bumblebee lazily buzzing its way to land right on Buck’s hat.

Sam plopped down on his other side.

“Don’t you think we should move, Cap?”

Steve frowned, puzzled. Sam hadn’t been there. Hadn’t even been born yet.

“Nah,” Bucky mumbled from under his hat. “She’s got perfect aim. We’re good.”

A silver canister flew through the air, catching the light as it tumbled, end over end. German soldiers emerged from the woods on the far side of the meadow just as it hit the ground, exploding in a flash of light.

The flowers were gone. The little stream reduced to a muddy trail through the torn up earth, littered with bodies. A bullet _whizzed_ by his cheek, the passing of it sending a breeze along his skin that made the rough stubble of his beard stand up. Another enemy fell. Another man killed by Bucky before he could kill Steve.

“Shield!” Natasha called out and Steve moved into position reflexively. She soared, the brown SSR uniform making her look like a sparrow in flight. She was beautiful against the blue sky.

He was laying on the lumpy couch in his apartment with Bucky, but it felt so much softer than he remembered. He could have lain there forever. Just never gotten up again. For once his lungs moved easily and his heart was calm.

“Got applesauce from Mick last night – part of my payment for the double shift,” Bucky was saying. “Think ya could make some more of that cake – the chocolate kind?”

He always wanted sweets. Food of any kind really. And Steve’s best friend couldn’t cook if his life depended on it. Mrs. Barnes was a good cook. Fluffy potatoes that were the envy of the neighborhood. Steve’s Ma had worked long shifts – too long to make dinner most nights and Steve was stuck inside anyhow, sick and unable to make much money to help with the rent. Learning to put a few ingredients together was the least he could do. It came in handy when he moved in with the bottomless pit that was Bucky Barnes.

“Butter would be better,” he complained. Not that they had butter – too expensive. And lard never tasted quite right to him – not in cake - though Bucky would eat it anyhow.

“Come on, punk. We got girls coming over.” And they must have already been there because Steve could smell the delicate scent of a familiar perfume and something indefinably feminine that made his stomach clench pleasantly. Steve wondered at these girls that were bold enough to come up to bachelor’s rooms for a meal. “At least some fresh bread?” Bucky continued, “I could put together a stew.”

“You tryin’ to kill these dames?” Not that Buck’s cooking was that bad – it wasn’t a murder weapon. More like culinary assault. “And it’s too cold for dough to rise, Bucky.” He shivered in the chill air of the apartment where the heat never worked right. “Why’d ya invite them over, anyhow? I don’t need your help. I got Darcy...got a date with Darcy, so make your own fuckin’ bread ya lazy mook.” That’s right. He had a date with Darcy. He should pick up the place a little if she was coming over. Maybe Buck would trade him tidying up for a nice meal. Bucky deserved a nice meal if it would get him someone half as great as Darcy. Someone smart and pretty who wouldn’t need him to show off so damn much.

Buck wasn’t listening, and Steve didn’t pay any attention to him either, suddenly too consumed with the idea that Darcy might see their pitiful little apartment at less than its best. He wanted to impress her, to make sure she would want to come back. There were drawing supplies and parts of two or three newspapers all over the living room. Empty coffee cups and his breakfast plate on the kitchen table. And through the open bedroom door he could see a pair of silk stockings hanging across the foot of his bed.

Darcy would look great in silk stockings.

Darcy better not see some other gal’s stockings on his bed.

“Goddamn it, Buck!” he swore.

The room slipped and slid around him and Steve was suddenly shivering, cold and dark and afraid. His legs were wet. Or frozen. Or both. He couldn’t see anything buta few red dials and a dim blue glow on metal and glass and the rising water in the cabin. _Oh_. _OH_. He didn’t want to be here. Not again. _No_.

“You could try to get out.”

Steve looked around for the source of the voice, but even with his perfect eyesight in the dark interior of the plane he could only make out a curvy figure and dark hair haloed around a pale face. _Peg_. She shouldn’t have been there. She wasn’t supposed to be there. She was safe, back at base. The water lapped at his knees, soaking his pants and numbing his skin. He felt the cold crawling further into him. His chest. His heart. Oozing into all the parts that had felt empty since Buck had fallen. The cold was a nice change from the burn of anger that had been consuming him. Anger at the Nazis. Anger at HYDRA. Anger at Bucky for not holding on tighter. Anger at himself for not moving quicker, for not reaching further.

For not following his friend.

“You are a good swimmer, now. I know you can hold your breath for a long time. You need to try.”

His hands fell loose from the controls, slipping into the icy liquid. It was a relief. Just to let go. To rest for a bit and not have to feel so fucking useless. So sad and alone and like no matter what he did, how hard he tried, fought, _grew fucking bigger_ – he still was no use to anyone. He was no good. It was getting darker. The ship sinking further from the surface and lit only by the glow of the tesseract.

“Come on, my man, let’s get you dry.”

Steve blinked and peered closer into the darkness. It wasn’t Peg at all, but Darcy. Darcy’s dark hair and generous curves and her wicked smile replaced the wry tilt of Peggy’s mouth. Darcy. With him. Under the Arctic. Steve tried to find the buckles on his harness. He needed to get out. He had to get Darcy out. And Bucky – Buck was alive. Alive and trapped somewhere behind enemy lines. He’d get Darce, he’d save her somehow, get to the surface. Then he’d find Howard. Darcy could talk to him, convince him – she could convince anyone of anything – and they’d go find Buck. He just had to get free of those stupid restraints.

“Come on,” he pleaded with her. “Climb out of the water. Up there,” he pointed to the back of the plane that hadn’t yet begun to fill. His heart was clawing out of his chest, fear making it hard to breathe. Terror at experiencing it all over again. But worse. So much worse. “Stay dry for me, sweetheart. I’ll get you out of here, I promise.” He frantically searched his mind for a plan, but his thoughts all scattered away.

A soft, soft body was pressed against his. Curved in all the right places. He smelled flowers and vanilla. His hands wrapped around arms that were so much smaller than his. Smooth skin and a sweet give to warm flesh that made him want to burrow in and rest there forever. Slick, wet hair sliding over his skin and petite hands gripping his back. He let out a whimper of need.

“There you go.” Breath on the side of his neck, ghosting across his ear and making him shiver with pleasure.

“You broke it.”

Tony’s suit looked terrible. Scratched, dented, face mask missing, the arc reactor ripped out of the casing. He was seated on a white sofa, a glass of liquor balanced on his crossed metal knees. He didn’t look mad, just amused. Steve hadn’t meant to break it. Hadn’t meant to break anything. Not the suit, not the team. Not their friendship.

“You’ll have to pay for the repairs. Not a lot of marketable skills on your resume.” He tossed a paper bag Steve’s way. “Well, you’ll just have to work it off. Get going.” A curtain was going up, bright lights shining into his eyes so he could see nothing but the gleam on the metal of Tony’s suit and the bag in his hands. Catcalls and indistinct hollering came from the darkness beyond the lights. In the bag was his old USO suit. It looked distinctly more...sheer than he remembered.

“Chop, chop, Cap. Time is money.”

His bathroom looked different. Not the yellowed wallpaper and cracked porcelain of he shared bath at his and Bucky’s place in Brooklyn. Not the disconcertingly old and yet new style of his SHIELD place in DC. Not the steel and glass of Wakanda or the cheap Formica of a hundred forgettable hostels and shitty motels. Not the expensive stone and art glass sinks of Stark’s tower. It was white. Clean. Glossy. He flushed the toilet, but the sound of running water kept going and going. He turned and became aware of the steam in the room, fogging up the glass shower.

And on the other side, Darcy’s wide blue-green eyes.

Steve smiled. He liked Darcy. Liked those peacock eyes with the thick dark lashes spiky with water and her full lips – dark pink without any makeup. Her pale skin was flushed prettily from the heat and he admired the round slope of her shoulders, the curve of her arm where it was extended – holding a yellow sponge that oozed bubbles. It smelled like vanilla. He loved vanilla. Darcy’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out. Steve laughed. Darcy, smelling like the best exotic vanilla and at a loss for words. His gaze fell lower, and even through the steam he could make out her lush figure, like an Afremov painting in wide sweeps of oils rich enough that he could taste the color.

Steve sighed happily. He wanted to draw her like that. Capture the moment forever. She was so beautiful. Beautiful and real and _alive_. He hoped she stayed.

God, he was tired. Tired and so hungry. His stomach was in knots, fighting itself and demanding attention. His bedding was soft and warm and rustled quietly as someone sat down next to him.

“Sit up a bit more, Steve, or we’ll end up with this all over the bed. And I’m not doing laundry again today.”

Steve would do the laundry. He hated it. And the last time he had tried all his underwear had come out with a blue tint from the jeans. But he would do it. If it meant Darcy helping him to get it dirty again, he would do laundry every damn day and twice on Sundays. _To hell with confession._ He’d do it three times on Sundays and twice on the couch for good measure. If he wasn’t so worried about scaring Darcy off he’d of had her twisted up in his sheets since their first date. He’d do all the laundry himself and bring her meals in bed if it meant she would stay there, kissing him like she had in the elevator and pressing all of her generous _everything_ against his bare skin.

“Open up. I didn’t make this, so don’t worry I’m poisoning you. But you have to eat something. Growing boys and all.”

He’d show her growing. Just as soon as he had a nap. God, he was so tired. Steve reached out for her and found something warm and smooth and silky to hold on to. He’d just have to hold her there, until he was awake. Make sure she stayed until he could show her how much he wanted her to stay.

“Steven Grant Rogers.”

Steve snapped to attention, his crooked spine aching at the sudden forced good posture. From the corner of his eye he could see Bucky, desperately trying to slide the evidence out the bedroom window and onto the narrow fire escape before Ma could see it. She’d be so disappointed. And there would be a talk. A Talk. And probably a wooden spoon to his backside and a month of extra chores for anyone in the building that needed help and double confession for at least two weeks. If Bucky didn’t hurry up he was going to get them both killed.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Don’t you yes ma’am me. I know what you did.” She held his bedroom door open only partway, her blue eyes burning like the hellfire that was surely coming for him. The door kept Bucky out of sight, and it felt like the thinnest veneer of salvation.

Steve could feel a guilty flush creeping up his neck. It would be double confession for a month, and he’d be lucky if he saw Bucky again before Christmas. Buck was sliding the window closed, somehow keeping the old wood from squeaking like it usually did. Tears were welling up in his Ma’s eyes, and Steve wanted to die. He deserved it. He deserved to go to hell for what he had done. It had been mostly Bucky, but once he found out he hadn’t said anything. He was just as culpable.

“Mr. Goody showed me the picture you drew him. Of his wife. Oh, _leanbh_. You know he lost all their photos in the fire when she died. I am so proud of you.” Tears actually did slip down her cheeks then. Steve’s stomach turned with what he was sure was pure evil sin.

“He just wanted to do somethin’ nice, Mrs. Rogers.” Bucky strolled into view with all the sincere charm his eleven year old body could muster, settling on the edge of the bed next to Steve. Steve’s mouth fell open further. There they were, both headed straight to hell, and Buck looked like he’d sprout wings and a halo any moment.

“You boys.” She gave Steve a strange look – no doubt his face was redder than Mrs. Fellite’s marinara. “I have to go to work, but I left some biscuits in the tin on the table. You help yourselves.” The door closed softly and Bucky was up in a flash, opening the window and reaching out to save the dog-eared copy of _Nude Figure Photography_ he had found in an alley.

Steve was sure he could feel the warmth of the fiery pits licking at his feet.


	6. Nobody Likes Twisted Schwartz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Florence Nightingale never had it so good.

_**January 15, 2017** _

 

Once the deliveries were complete – SI security was the epitome of discretion, not even glancing at the blanket covered lump that was Steve as they maneuvered the new chaise up to the third floor and put it in place – Darcy set up the baby monitor and headed down to her apartment. Friday had assured her that it would work, even four stories away, and Darcy trusted the AI so she ate and washed her face before falling into bed with the monitor clutched in her hand.

A deep murmur in her ear woke her from a dead sleep.

“...stockings. Darcy...” That got her attention. Her name spoken with a rumble of appreciation that created a liquid heat low in her belly. She blinked into the darkness; fuzzy red numbers on her alarm clock read one-oh-six. Less than three hours of sleep.

“...run her off.” Steve’s voice rose in sudden anger, “Goddamn it, Buck!”

Darcy tripped twice in her own bedding, hitting her knee hard on the floor. She wrenched open the door to the stairs so violently it banged against the wall, likely denting the sheet rock but she didn’t have the capacity to care. Her heart was thudding in her chest before she even cleared the first floor of Steve’s place. His harsh breathing over the monitor was a match for her own heavy breathing.

 _He’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay,_ she chanted to herself. She hadn’t heard him get out of bed or fall – although that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve could move very quietly when he wanted to, but he _was_ drugged. _Oh god,_ and that just reminded her that she didn’t really know what he had been hit with – wasn’t convinced that anyone really knew. Friday hadn’t told her, only that Steve needed rest and someone to call a medical team in case his condition changed.

Darcy rounded the newel post on the second floor, running flat out in bare legs and an old t-shirt. Her sleeping bra was not designed for a sprint and she cursed herself for being so lax as to leave Steve alone. Bucky had asked her to watch him. If anything happened... _he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay._

She banged her shin, tripping up the last few stairs but scrambled forward with her heart in her throat.

_He’s okay._

Steve had flung away the duvet, squashing most of it to the opposite side of the bed and pushing two of his pillows to the floor. The sheet and a thin blanket had been shoved down toward the foot of the bed. His forehead was creased in a frown but his breathing was steady – steadier than hers. Darcy gulped down air, pressing her hand to her chest to try and steady her pulse.

“...me in trouble...” he murmured with more Brooklyn in his voice than she was used to, then flopped onto his side, his scowl smoothing and his lips parting slightly.

Darcy wasn’t sure how long she stood there, bright moonlight filtering down from the stairwell skylight to wash the dark wood floor in a slick shine. Her feet were cold, almost numb, before her chest loosened from the horribly tight fear that Steve might be really hurt. Really sick. Really needing help that she couldn’t possibly provide. Darcy had been responsible for other people before. Jane – especially in the few months after Thor had first returned to Asgard – had walked the bleeding edge of sanity as she threw herself into her work. It was Darcy who had kept the woman eating and sleeping – at least enough to be considered semi-normal – until Jane had been able to take care of herself again. And after London Eric had jumped right over the bleeding edge, down the waterfall and into insanity lake. It was Darcy, with Thor and Jane’s support, that had made sure he was weaned down to just the essential meds. She took him to therapy and helped him interview for a teaching position.

She had not, however, ever been responsible for another person’s _actual_ life. Certainly not someone who saved the world on a regular basis. Certainly not someone who she might be, just the tiniest bit, maybe ready to think about falling for. It was a heavy weight made more real by the notion that if he were to take a turn for the worst, there wasn’t much she could do but call for help. Bruises and aches from her mad dash gradually made themselves known. Her shin throbbed, both of her knees ached, her boobs definitely needed more support for cardio activity, and for some reason her left wrist hurt.

“Well,” she whispered into the darkness to make herself feel less alone. “I’m sure as shit not running up four flights of stairs again.”

That decided, she pulled the sheet and blanket out from under Steve’s feet and covered him gently. The pillows and throw Bucky had left on the floor were stacked on the brand new lounge, so Darcy made up a little bed for herself and lay down. With her face turned toward Steve, she ignored the voice that told her it was supremely weird to watch her potential significant other of _one_ date sleeping and instead thumbed off the baby monitor and set it on the floor. It didn’t take long for the warmth of the soft blanket and the steady sound of Steve’s breathing to send her back to sleep.

It wasn’t yet light out, but the sounds of traffic had picked up outside when Darcy next woke. She blinked heavily, staring at the lumpy pile of bedding on the floor and the empty mattress. _That can’t be regular-sized,_ she thought sleepily. _Tony must have special ordered an extra gigantic superhero regulation bed. But then he’d need to get sheets and stuff to fit and..._ Her internal line of thought trailed off and she became aware of water running.

_What the hell?_

Darcy slipped off the chaise, congratulating herself on an excellent selection because she wasn’t nearly as stiff as one would expect after sleeping on a couch, and tiptoed down the hallway. The water was running in the master bathroom, the door cracked open a good eighteen inches. She could hear an occasional splash and caught the quickest flash of movement. If Steve was taking a shower, he must have woken up feeling better. Relief thrummed through her, followed immediately by awkwardness. She was standing a few feet from his bed in nothing but a bleach-stained _Arctic Monkeys_ t-shirt and her most comfortable, least attractive sleeping bra. Not exactly the morning after impression she wanted to make with Steve.

As quietly as possible, she crept toward the stairs. Darcy had one foot on the first step down when she heard the moan.

“No. No.”

It was a tone of absolute agony. Desperation and pain marked the words, followed by a sound that could only be described as concession. Darcy had turned around and pushed open the bathroom door before she could think twice.

There was no steam in the room, and a definite chill to the air even as water poured out of a rain shower head and straight on to Steve. He was still fully clothed, even wearing his socks, and soaked clear through. The skin of his face and hands was bone white; deep blue shadows swept across his cheeks and tinted the beds of his nails. His eyes were closed and his mouth lax. He looked resigned. It was painful to see.

“Steve?”

He didn’t react, so Darcy carefully opened the shower door and reached in to turn off the water - getting a face full of the spray in the process. It was icy cold. “Fuck,” she spat out. How long did it take to get hypothermia? Shock? Could Steve go into either? She didn’t want to find out. Didn’t want to think about how long he had been in there and how long he might have stayed if she hadn’t woken up.

She cleared her throat, trying for light and soothing but fearing it came out shaky and frightened. “Come on, my man, let’s get you dry.”

Steve’s eyes opened, and he blinked at her, staring at her face, but Darcy was certain he wasn’t seeing her. His big hands fumbled clumsily with his clothes – Darcy had never seen Steve do anything with less than athletic grace. _What am I supposed to do?_ She tried to remember anything about first aid. Getting dry was a priority, she was certain. He was reaching for her, his worried frown heartbreaking even as his mouth moved soundlessly.

“Okay, Steve, okay,” she soothed. Darcy took his hands and he followed her mechanically out of the shower, his socks squishing on the bare tile and a puddle forming around them both. His sweatshirt had a zipper – _thank god,_ there was no way she could have pulled anything over his head without more cooperation – and she pulled the clinging fabric down his arms swiftly. Under any other circumstances, Darcy would have been delightfully enthusiastic about stripping Steve to bare muscles and taut skin. The situation only left her with more worry. His usual golden glow was absent, replaced with pale flesh and a purple undertone of chill. Goosebumps prickled his arms and chest – even his nipples were blanched white from the cold.

“You’ll tell Howard,” he mumbled as she pulled down his soaked pants and boxers, forcefully ignoring everything she revealed. “Tell ‘em. Tell ‘em, Darce.” She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered he was hallucinating about her, or worried that whatever he was seeing seemed to be scaring him so badly. “Find Buck..gotta...you gotta...sweetheart...” He lifted his feet with gentle prompting, taking halting steps forward as she peeled off his socks with everything else. His toes were like ice, and that scared her more than anything. Steve had always seemed to radiate heat, but full body shivers were wracking him now. She yanked a towel from the rack to drape over his shoulders and an another to briskly rub his legs – trying to get the circulation going.

“Gotta...sweetheart...promise.”

“Okay, Steve,” she murmured as she worked her way up, unable to control her own blush but concentrating on his need which was as far from sexual as possible. “Shhhh. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” His weight was heavy against her as she coaxed him back to bed. Steve clutched at her almost desperately, not letting go even as she had to reach awkwardly to swing his legs onto the mattress and pull the blankets over him. The duvet was a mess, but at she at least managed to get him covered. He still felt cold, so she rubbed her hands across his shoulders and chest, looping around to his spine and neck and hoping he never remembered that the first time she saw him naked was like this.

He settled down with a whimper and a sigh, his expression finally easing as his cheeks gained a bit of color.

“There you go,” she murmured, feeling her own anxiety release with the warm flush returning to his skin. “You’re okay, Steve.”

She was reluctant to leave him again after that. The shower had been bad enough, but there were were worse places he could sleepwalk. Down the stairs, for instance. It probably wouldn’t hurt him much, but his weight was liable to snap right through the railing on the way down. Up to the roof – that would be worse. She didn’t _think_ that fall could kill him – but it would definitely let his neighbors see a side of Captain America that Steve probably wouldn’t appreciate. They would – certainly. Anyone would.

Darcy was worried, sure, but she still noticed a fine ass when it was bare and staring her in the face.

She only ran down to her apartment long enough to change and pack a bag with essentials, and after that stayed on the same floor as Steve except to heat up food and get coffee. He sat up once more that morning – mostly awake – and ate a grilled cheese sandwich she made for him. Most of it even made it into his mouth. The same couldn’t be said for the tomato soup she had heated up. At her prodding, he made it to the bathroom again, eyes glazed over and unfazed by his own nudity. Darcy used the opportunity to exchange his stained sheets for an unopened set that probably cost more than her last laptop. He even stepped into a pair of boxers when she suggested it, although he muttered about Tony and stage lights the whole time.

It was nearly four in the afternoon before he fell into a deeper sleep again and Darcy felt comfortable turning on the monitor while she took a shower. Her hair was still damp on one side from her impromptu soaking that morning, there was tomato soup staining her shirt, and she was sure she smelled. Steve was flopped on his back and snoring, so she grabbed her bag and headed for his bathroom so she would be close if he needed her.

The shower – when hot – was magnificent. Body sprays, a handheld wand, and a rain head that could be turned on individually or all at once. She might have felt guilty over the water use, but she was certain Tony had integrated the latest in water saving, reclamation, and gray technology during renovations. The bench that ran along one wall was wide enough to actually sit on, not just a ledge for shaving, and Darcy took full advantage. She washed and rinsed her hair, left her legs and armpits silky smooth, and resolutely did not neaten up anything else in an attempt to remind her less noble hormones that naked Steve was currently also non-consenting Steve. She had just broken out her favorite body wash and a brand new sponge she had found in Steve’s linen closet when the man himself stumbled into the bathroom.

Darcy froze.

Regardless of social norms for personal relationships and cohabitation, Darcy had never been the type to feel comfortable sharing a bathroom routine. Or maybe she had just never dated anyone she felt comfortable enough with to share a bathroom routine. Either way, she was so shocked when Steve lifted the seat and hummed to himself she just continued to stand there – expensive vanilla suds foaming out of her suddenly clenched fist and disappearing down the drain.

He turned towards her, cooler than gelato in January, and smiled as he tucked himself back into his boxers. Darcy stared, sponge forgotten.

“Darcy,” he rumbled in a sleep-roughened voice. “I like you.”

 _I like you too_ , she thought dumbly. Closely followed by, _what the fuck_ , and, _Satan, please take me to hell now_ , and then, _yum, abs._

“So pretty,” he sighed with a stupid smile. His eyes traveled over her body with clear appreciation, and Darcy wasn’t sure if she hoped the steam had made things blurry – or if she really wished it hadn’t. He laughed, and it was easily the nicest sound Darcy had ever heard. “Smell like ice cream. So good...love it. Tastes like pink.” With that declaration he sighed again, still smiling, and wandered back out of the bathroom.

Darcy tested the quality of the water heater as she was unable to move for another ten minutes, wondering what the hell had just happened. And if she should be as pleasantly tingly over it as she was.

She spent the next two days camped out on the chaise lounge in Steve’s bedroom. His periods of semi-lucidity grew longer and more coherent, interspersed with heartrendingly sad nightmares, rather flattering innuendo, and hilarious dreams. Darcy hoped half of the things he said about Bucky were true. It would be enough blackmail material to keep her in favors for years.

“And what did Jimmy boy say?” she asked softly as she held another cup of soup – chicken and stars this time, she had learned her lesson with tomato.

“Jimmy,” Steve frowned and took another sip, his eyes beginning to flutter closed again. “Hated, hates, hates bein’ called that. Jus’ Buck, ya know. Jus’ Buck.”

“And?” she prompted again, setting aside the empty soup cup and helping Steve to ease back to the pillows.

“Said...said if he’d known...knowed...known they were sisters, he woulda...” His blue eyes fell fully shut and he snuffled into his pillow. Darcy gave into the urge and smoothed down the hair that stuck up in the back. She thought he was completely out when he spoke up again. “Woul’na tried to set me up with their cousin.” He wrapped his palm around her thigh, just below the old shorts she was wearing. Steve was a cuddler, that was obvious. He always liked to be touching her as he fell back asleep. It made Darcy eager for him to get better so she wouldn’t have to force herself to feel bad about taking advantage of him.

Her phone dinged with an incoming text and she eased her leg out from under Steve’s warm hand to check her messages.

_MoneyMaker: Mission complete. ETA 2 hrs. Status?_

She replied:

_Still improving. So you dated sisters? You scoundrel._

_MoneyMaker: …_

_MoneyMaker: Drugs can make you say all kinds of weird shit._

Jane had also texted.

_DrQueen: And he was naked?_

_DrQueen: Like naked-naked or just naked?_

_Dr.Queen: How good? Good?_

_DrQueen: Not that its any of my business._

_DrQueen: But good, right?_

_DrQueen: Pic? For data comparison?_

_DrQueen: I miss Thor._

_DrQueen: How naked?_

Darcy snorted and closed the app. There was a reply from Pepper in her inbox as well.

_Darcy,_

_I believe I have an appropriate venue to suggest for your intended course of action. Please see the attached. If you need any further assistance, I am happy to assist._

_Maria would like to have you over for dinner soon. Please let me know when you might be available – after you are finished humbling Tony, of course._

_Love, Pepper._

Darcy smiled to herself, glancing back at the super soldier snoring behind her. She really did have a great life.

She also wondered if playing Florence Nightingale counted as date number two.

And maybe three?


	7. They've Gone to Plaid

**February 17, 2017**

Pepper Potts tapped against her tablet, pretending to read emails while Maria did homework. They each had a cup of cocoa and studiously ignored Tony who was attempting to create a new smoothie recipe in the kitchen. Pepper checked the time: t-minus seven minutes. Maria grinned, clearly excited, but then covered it with a scowl.

“What kind of masochist assigns this much homework over a weekend?”

Tony piped in from the kitchen, “You’ll be caught up in no time – and then we can do some real damage.” He blanched and threw a wince at Pepper. She gave him points for getting his encouragement half-right. It was progress. Boundaries had always been difficult for Tony – either far to o much distance, or absolutely none at all. The way he had walked the line with Maria was wonderful to see, but Pepper had hope that his next comeuppance would teach an important lesson.

A message pinged on her tablet from Friday.

_Dr. Vivas has entered the building and is on her way up._

_Well._ _That will be interesting_ _._ Evie’s flight from LA had been canceled due to weather and Pepper  had  assumed she would wait to fly to New York on Saturday. Having an audience was not part of the original plan, but Pepper was nothing if not quick on her feet. Or quick on her Vetrina dining chair, as the case was. She leaned over Maria, as if checking her work, and whispered,

“Dr. Vivas is here. Run interference, please.”

The elevator dinged and Tony’s head emerged from deep in a cabinet. “Friday? Are we expecting someone?”

“Dr. Vivas has arrived, Boss.”

“Thank God!” Maria announced loudly.

Evie stepped off the elevator, her carry-on luggage in tow, and blinked in surprise as she was accosted by a pre-teen.

“I need help with my Spanish grammar, Doc, or I can’t join the rest of my grade next quarter. You’re good at this, right? _Sentarse y ser genial_.”

Pepper gave credit where it was due, Evie only blinked and rolled her suitcase to the table. “I’m afraid I haven’t done anything formal since my professional terminology class in medical school, but I will do my best. How are you finding your other classes, Maria?”

“Oh, you know. Sucky, but not completely abominable.” 

Pepper raised an eyebrow, but didn’t correct the language. ‘Suck’ was a considerable step up from other words Maria had used, and was still prone to when upset. Evie sat and engaged in a quiet discussion regarding gendered verbs and Pepper calmly sipped her lemon water and pretended to work on her tablet until she received another message from Friday.

Ms. Lewis has entered the lobby.

Anticipation flooded her muscles and Pepper had to consciously breathe and regulate her temperature.  Tony popped the lid on the blender – something suspiciously orange and gloppy – and started it up. The elevator pinged and Darcy stalked out – mid-rant.

“-defend him! I asked him straight out – and he said nothing. Nothing!”

Natasha followed with less gesticulating and a much calmer tone of voice. “Darcy, I understand that you are upset, but Steve is not the sort of man who would-”

“How would you know? How would anyone know? Just because he had me fooled – had us all fooled – with that Boy Scout yes ma’am shit doesn’t mean he isn’t the same horn dog scum as ninety percent of the male population. I am not doing this, Natasha. So you can just save it!”

Tony had finally noticed the entrance of the two woman and hurriedly cut the power to his smoothie. 

“Lewis. Natalie. What brings your violent tirade to my-”

Darcy slapped a piece of paper on the zinc island. “My resignation. I’ll finish up the month from the upstate facility, with Jane. But I can’t do this, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes were wide, his skin a little pale. Pepper had a brief moment of doubt, worried for his emotional stability, but quashed it. It was important, with the team so fresh and being so careful around each other, that he be reminded of his place. Which was not as the puppeteer behind the scenes. People were important, especially people who were helping Tony rebuild his life, his psyche, his purpose. He needed to learn to respect that. 

“Now, Lewis, hold up. You know I can’t accept that. What’s the problem? No problem I can’t fix. I have all the monies, remember? Like Scrooge McDuck over here.”

“It isn’t money, Tony,” Darcy bit off. She looked mad enough to punch someone.

“Darcy believe that Steve intended to...pressure her by moving in upstairs.” Natasha remained calm and unaffected – as one expected of a former Russian spy and current deadly assassin. Tony’s eyes widened further.

“Now, Lewis. That’s...I’m sure Don’t Tread On Me didn’t know that you were-”

“Didn’t know?” Darcy’s voice reached a pitch that would make dogs howl. “Didn’t know? Are you seriously going to tell me that the world’s most famous tactician didn’t know where he was moving? Are you fucking kidding me Tony? I know you’re trying to help him out, for the team, and that’s great. But I can’t work like this – I trusted him. I trusted in what he stood for. And Steve-” Her voice broke and her teeth snapped shut with an audible clack. Darcy turned her back to Tony, ostensibly to collect herself. She faced the little table where Pepper, Evie, and Maria were sitting.

Darcy winked.

“Lewis, just let me call him. You two should probably talk about this. Friday?”

“To hell with talking,” Darcy growled. “He had his chance, and his silence spoke volumes!”

“Boss?”

“Friday, get Rogers over here, stat. And maybe order in some supper – for everyone. Yeah. That’s what we need, a nice, quiet sit-down with-”

“No, Tony. No sit down. I’m sorry, but you’ll be fine without me. I am sure you’ll find someone else to run Yinsen and help you with the Avengers. But it can’t be me. I really like him and he-” Darcy pressed her mouth over her hand and leaned over the island. Her shoulders were shaking. Pepper cut her eyes to Evie. The doctor’s mouth was hanging open. Maria looked like she needed popcorn. “I just – I have to go, Tony.” Darcy spoke into the counter. “Most of my stuff is still packed. I’ll arrange to move it as soon as I know where I’ll end up. If Jane decides to stay-”

“I did it,” Tony blurted. His face was ashen, the whites of his eyes showing all around. “I thought if you and he – and it’s safer, with civilians nearer to one of the team or – and you seemed to like him...but it can be fixed. I’ll fix it. You want a new place? Your own brownstone? Maybe a 2-bedroom corner apartment in the Tower?” Darcy hadn’t moved, her whole body still trembling, and Tony’s concessions picked up speed. “Or somewhere else. Anywhere in Manhattan, you name it. I’ll get you a private car to bring you to work. It’s not his fault. It’s mine. He’s completely innocent...in this. Dependable. Stalwart. Honorable. Practically immaculately conceived. Maybe even unimpeachable. Definitely impregnable. But...I didn’t say that...that is, he’s what you thought. I’ll fix it Lewis, just tell me-”

Darcy’s peal of laughter interrupted him. She held out a fist, and Natasha lightly bumped it.

“Nice.” 

Tony’s mouth gaped open. “What?”

“I know Steve didn’t know.” Darcy flopped onto a barstool and wiped at her eyes. “Of course it was you. You meddle more than a yenta. More than an Italian grandmother with an unwed thirty-something grandson. More than Stalin in commodities markets. More than Don Pedro in-”

“Are you fucking with me?” Tony’s mouth was still open.

“Yes, Tony. Obviously. I am fucking with you. Which you deserve. One hundred percent.” Her eyes narrowed. “It is not nice to arrange other people’s lives, Tony, even if you mean well.”

“So. You’re not...” His hand flopped ineffectually.

“That depends. Do you have any more plans to stick you nose into my sexual relations?”

“Ew.” Tony wrinkled his nose, and color was slowly coming back into his cheeks. “Don’t talk about my face and your whatnot in the same sentence.”

“Don’t interfere in my love life,” she countered.

“Is your professional life still fair game?”

“Only if you want to see your balls up close and personal.”

“Fair. Want a smoothie?”

Natasha sashayed over to the table, bringing with her another glass and the pitcher of lemon water. Pepper let out a breath. This was what Tony needed. To have his fears challenged in a controlled environment, and to have people in his life who would push back. Support him, befriend him, be loyal to him, but still hold their own. 

“That depends. Did you add fish oil to this one?”

Tony and Darcy devolved into good-natured bickering and creative name calling. Natasha poured herself a drink and filled Pepper’s glass. Maria turned, disappointed, back to her homework.  She had obviously expected more excitement.

“Ready to take Tony up on that permanent position in New York yet?” Pepper smirked at Evie, who finally closed her mouth.

Evie answered dryly, “It’s cheaper than cable.”


End file.
